


8 AM

by literarypeerelief



Series: 24 hours [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bladder Control, M/M, Omorashi, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literarypeerelief/pseuds/literarypeerelief
Summary: Camillo, a handsome barista at Giovanni's, loves holding his pee because the end result is as good as sex. Today, at 8 AM, as customers are filling in to the coffee shop, Camillo knows he cannot leave the counter despite his bursting bladder. He's not sure if this is going to be fun.
Series: 24 hours [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622254
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	8 AM

Camillo Cavaleggi loves his job, and he knows so well about what he’s doing. At this breakfast house, owned by his uncle’s friend, Giovanni, he keeps serving coffee, tea, bread, and full English breakfast. Really, he is a barista, well-known in this area because of his look and his hospitality. This coffee shop and breakfast house can be quite packed in the morning and in the afternoon, because of Camillo’s handsome look and their tasty food. The morning is the busiest time of days. Some just want to get breakfast, while others are ordering coffee for themselves and their colleagues at the offices around here.

Camillo takes a good care of customers with his quick service and nice smiles upon his face. He listens to the customer as they order their coffee, with the help of Antonio, his younger brother, and Toto, his cousin. Camillo mainly stays in front of the coffee machine, listening to Tony and preparing them carefully. His good memory means he could recall some of his customers’ favourite. That’s why he is so popular in this area.  
Most mornings he enjoys his popularity, giving his faithful customers nice smiles and delicious coffee, but this morning is quite taxing. Toto seems to forget how to make coffee after he has taught him for two weeks. Toto can be clumsy at times, so he has to repeat the order to Toto in order to make him focus and give the customer the right brew. Toto is a loveable creature, but not in this context.

The second thing is, Camillo sighs after he turns his back to his customer, his need to pee increases a little too quickly. He drank a large mug of coffee, along with some toast and butter for breakfast. Well, actually, he usually drinks smaller mug, but Toto just forgot and took his usual cup. The only mug left on the rack was the large one, and he just made himself a large mug of coffee. Now, with sweat on his brow, he regrets it. He sometimes cranes his neck to the toilet beyond the kitchen in the narrow corridor behind him, and grunts. He felt the need around seven, and now it’s ten past eight, and he’s still holding. He isn’t sure he can hold so long. That whole big mug he drank was purely coffee, a nice, aromatic diuretic liquid.

He just learns from two men in suits, whom he overheard, that there is a big conference at the university, so there are a lot of customers since half past six, and he keeps brewing, pouring, writing names, and smiling to his customers without stopping to use the toilet. He saw Tony going to toilet once since the shop opens, and Toto twice, while he was speaking to his loyal customers, who sometimes hoped to linger so that they could see his face more.

Camillo is grabbing his crotch as a customer came up to the counter. His sweat on the brows means he knows that disaster is looming. He smiles, as usual, and speaks,

“Welcome to Giovanni’s Breakfast. What can I help you, sir?”

“Two cappuccinos and one latte for takeaway. Oh can I also have the cinnamon coffee as well?”

“Yes,sir. Can I know your name, please?”

“It’s Eilidh. Well it’s quite hard to spell,” the lady customer just writes her name in the paper, as Camillo grabs himself again, hoping she can write faster. He used to be desperate at the counter in the morning like this, but almost every time he survives with his trousers dry, as he gushes very hard in the small, single use toilet at the back of the corridor. Somehow he enjoys urinating after holding for so long, but today, after some estimation, is quite disastrous. The mug was too large. He is tapping his feet, when she gives her piece of paper. It writes,

Eilidh McBride  
Call me if you fancy a dinner

With her phone number at the back, he smiles and sighs. He writes shortly at that piece of paper, saying “I’m sorry. I’m gay.” Thinking about his orientation, Camillo has a brief daydream about Connor, his bartender boyfriend, who, last night, almost urinated at the door of their flat because of his desperation. Camillo chuckles, but then grabs his crotch very tightly again. His bladder throbs. Then he sees Toto opening up a new carton of milk.

“Two lattes, right?” Toto asks.

“Two Cappuccinos and One latte!” Camillo corrects him. He moves to the coffee machine. He usually finds this kind of bodily torture funny, when you hear the spraying and whooshing sound of the machine, when you’re dancing because your bladder is so full, not to mention all the pouring of liquid of various kinds, into that, out of that. He enjoys it because he will pee very enjoyably at the end. Yet, today, this mass of hot urine is too large. He is crossing his legs while he is preparing to do his beautiful latte art on the coffee for his loyal customers. He was the first runner-up at world latte art competition, and now what he can think off is just fern leaves on their coffee. The desperation distracts him and destroys his art and reputation. Well, for reputation, he grabs his crotch once more as he turns his back to the customers; he hasn’t lost it …yet. He isn’t sure, however, that he won’t disgrace himself.

He wriggles as he sees gush of hot water coming out of the machine. Today is such a harsh eight o’ clock. Usually he gets through without a scratch, or in this case, without a wet spot. There was a time when his bladder gave in at the toilet door, but only a small wet spot, behind his barista apron, was the only evidence. He wriggles once again as he smiles to his handsome, loyal customer. He knows his name was Josh, as his colleague calls him. Now his bladder is distracting while doing latte art. Just two more fern leaves then.

This is the first time he hates being trapped in the counter. He crosses his legs as he feels the throbbing bladder and the boiling urine desperate to leak out. Toto almost makes the wrong coffee again. He wipes the spills Toto has made on the counter and sighs. Unfortunately, Marius, his great friend and colleague, took a sick leave since last week, and Toto has to help.

Camillo looks at the clock. Eight thirty. Customers who eat in are leaving. He could hear the footsteps behind him at his most wanted corridor. Yes. Almost no one is eating in and ordering hot breakfast from the kitchen. That means the cooks are leaving the kitchen to relax. He hears the toilet door close and, about two minutes later, open as he is pouring coffee into his customer’s takeaway coffee cup. He couldn’t help groaning softly as he knows that the chefs, such as Piotr and Franz, has relieved themselves after holding for quite a long while in the kitchen.

“Camillo,” A customer calls him. It was Mr. Fujinaka, the Japanese-American director of an art studio not far from the university. Mr. Fujinaka has always been kind to him. Camillo handss him his large cup of coffee, filled to the brim with mocha, and the shop’s famous biscotti. Camillo crosses his legs once more. He has to block his drain, or else his waste liquid would leak out of the pipe.

“Be careful, sir. It’s hot,” Camillo smiles.

“You look tired,” Mr. Fujinaka said, accepting his biscotti.

“I’m …fine, sir.” Camillo wonders if his desperation is that noticeable. Then, he couldn’t help grabbing his crotch and dancing a bit more. It IS obvious.

“Well, I know how it feels. I used to work at a coffee shop in Japan too, when I was younger. Too many people in such a small space at a rush hour. There isn’t even time for your body to relax, not even to breathe. Give your body some time, Camillo. Arrivederci.”

“Exactly, sir.”

A quarter to nine. Less customers are standing at the counter now, and yet still a lot of order. The time in this limbo is coming to an end. He has been holding since seven o’ clock, and he’s bursting. He grabs himself more frequently, and while washing his hands because he finds the act of grabbing dirty and unfit for making coffee, he wince when he sees warm water gushing upon his hands. He just wished he could urinate at the sink. He even wonders if any office workers think of using the sink because the men’s room must have been very busy every morning, after a cup of coffee or two. After washing his hands, he can feel his sore bladder slowly giving in. He crosses his legs tightly, as a bespectacled, fortyish man orders food and Americano. He sighs as he feels a small dribble of urine in his brief, as he prepares an Americano and calls out to Toto for two croissants.  
Five minutes to nine. He moves to the coffee machine, and then accidentally leaks a hot spurt of urine. He used to leak, but not as much. Still, Antonio and Toto do not notice what has happened to him. As he hands his customer two coffee, he can hear a man exclaiming, “Shit!” He looks back and finds Toto spilling coffee and tea when he tripped a little over one of his feet. The large spillage makes Camillo leaks once more. Camillo grunts. He looks for a dry towel to wipe the mess, but most of them are soaked and absorbed. Luckily, Piotr, the cook and a coffee connoisseur, comes to rescue as Camillo looks for a dry towel in the kitchen.

Well, he doesn’t look for a dry towel, but he heads for the toilet just to find it occupied by Giovanni himself. He dances crazily as another leak came out. The leak is so large he can feel it in his socks. He moves to the cupboard in the small den behind the toilet to find some dry towels. He places one of them over his shoulder. Camillo is about to head to the counter, thinking he can hold it, but another spurt of hot urine from his bladder means he surely cannot. He glances at the toilet. It is still occupied. He glances around. Most people are smoking at the back. Another spurts come out.  
He takes out the larges towel in the pack, saying “super-absorbent” on his package, and suddenly unzips. The cloth suddenly does it great job as he sighs and gushes into the soft, thick towel. He looks at the floor. No drops could be seen and he is peeing very hard. Camillo farts as he is still releasing his golden, fragrant urine into the towel. He hears Piotr calling his name but he doesn’t care. He really needed to go. He is going in full flow. He smiles sheepishly as he feels much relieved, though he hasn’t finished pissing yet. Another jet is coming. He is taking his time away from work. Maybe this is what Mr. Fujinaka means. Give your body time. He farts once again, and closes his eyes in bliss.

“Ciao!”

“…Hi!” Camillo was shocked. Piotr is standing in front of him.

“Let me take that towel on your shoulder, Camillo,”

“Don’t tell, Giovanni!”

“I won’t.”

“Thanks.”

“I used to do that too!


End file.
